The Trophy Chase Saga

by George Bryan Polivka

  Tuth pondered this. He nodded. She had the highest price on her head they could have named, and he would be the only one on the voyage who knew it.

  “Do you understand me, Chief Minister?”

  He did.

  “We want to know how to command the Firefish. She is quite right about the power such ability represents. The Vast cannot be allowed to keep such knowledge to themselves. But we do not want the woman Talon to return. You, Huk Tuth, must bring this knowledge of the Firefish back to us. Bring it here, and bring Talon’s head with you, and there will be a throne for you atop this palace.”

  Tuth stood. His humiliation could yet be turned to honor. He bowed in spite of himself, and took his leave. But on the way out, he despised in his heart the men with whom he had just dealt. They were foxes, not wolves; hyenas, not lions. And yet they sat in judgment as to who was Worthy in all the kingdom? Sool Kron had done this.

  But if they were foolish enough to make him Hezzan, then the Quarto would learn what price was paid for dishonoring Drammun.

  “Can he defeat her, do you think?” Kank asked aloud.

  “He cannot outfight her,” Dorn Rodanda answered. “That is plain.”

  “He won’t outwit her,” the bookish Zekahn Irkah added.

  Tcha Tarvassa grinned, his lizard eyelids half-closed. “It doesn’t matter,” he assured them. “While they are gone, we shall have both his power and hers. The government and the military. Whichever one returns shall find a very different kingdom, and a different set of rules.”

  “Unless we proclaim Tuth as Hezzan,” Irkah warned, “as we have promised.”

  “But did we promise him that?” Kank asked. “I remember only promising a throne on the rooftop of this building. And I do believe we could find a privy up there somewhere, given time.”

  Their laughter was cold and smug. And heartfelt.

  “Now there’s somethin’ I thought I’d never see,” Mutter Cabe said to Delaney. They were once again in the rigging, feeling the Chase move, heel a few more inches, accelerate a knot or two with every few square foot of canvas they unfurled.

  “Aye,” Delaney said. His hands worked the lines as he dropped a glance to the quarterdeck. “If I’d a’ never seen it, I’d a’ died a happier man.” They spoke of the leather-clad figure, sword at her hip, knife and pistol in her belt, standing at the quarterdeck rail of the Trophy Chase. “Captain Talon.”

  “Is it true she’s the Hezzan?” Cabe asked.

  “Nah,” Delaney said with a shake of his head. “Even the Drammune got more sense than that.”

  “The priest said she is.”

  “But he don’t know. She talked like she was Hezzan, sure, but it was just a lie. Just so she could put a knife to a king’s throat and save her own skin. That’s all.”

  Cabe nodded. That sounded more like Talon.

  “If she don’t sail us to ruin, it’ll be by God’s own grace,” Delaney assured him.

  Mutter looked behind them at the seventeen crimson vessels trailing them, surrounding them, astern. And when he thought about their destination, he had a hard time disagreeing.

  “This is God’s business,” the dark priest said in a whisper to the servant girl. “I must get a message to him.”

  “There are guards there,” she whispered back.

  “May I come in?” he asked, glancing up and down the street.

  “I don’t think so…” She was alarmed even to be having this discussion. The girl lived in the palace and worked in the hospital, but her parents lived here, a few blocks away, outside the Old City walls in a dilapidated part of town. Father Usher Fell had followed her here.

  Now he closed his eyes, feeling the opportunity slip away. He stepped closer, and she backed up involuntarily. He placed his hand inside the doorframe, so she could not suddenly close the door on him. He tried to look kind. She was a plain thing, seventeen, though she looked younger. Her hair was a light, dirty brown, almost the same color as the weather-stained wood of the door she held partially open. Several pimples marred an otherwise milky complexion. “Dear girl,” he purred, “you believe in God, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said, feeling a bit accused.

  “Then you understand that in this world, believers will have tribulation.”

  She nodded, not liking the direction this was headed.

  “When the Church is held in high esteem, everyone claims to believe. But in times of persecution, believers pay a price for their faith. Nearing Vast is entering such a time.”

  “But…the queen believes—”

  “The queen is persecuting the Church, dear girl! She offers pretty smiles and warm words, but she has arrested the High Holy Reverend Father and holds him captive in her palace! He will be taken to prison when he is well enough, and then he will be out of reach, unable to direct the Church of God. I ask only that you get a message through to him, one of the utmost importance, and bring his response back to me.”

  She looked like she was going to cry. “But the dragoons never leave him.”

  “That may be. But the dragoons do not eat his meals.” He held up a note, a parchment folded into a square half the size of her palm, sealed with blue wax. “Put it in his bowl and cover it with porridge. He will find it.”

  Curious, she took it and examined it. “But…won’t it…you know, get ruined?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the porridge you serve. It’s thicker than boot paste.”

  She nodded. She knew that was true. “But what if I get caught?”

  “You won’t.”

  “What if I do?”

  “Then run to the seminary. You will find refuge in the chapel, as all those who flee to that place will.”

  Somehow, this made her feel better. She looked again at the note from his hand.

  “Now, here’s the important part. Are you listening?”

  She nodded.

  “He cannot write his answer. If it is no, he will turn his bowl upside down. If yes, he will lay his spoon upon his fork in the sign of the cross. Can you remember to look for those signs?”

  “But how will he know to do that?”

  Father Fell blanched. Then he said slowly, “It’s written in the note.”

  She nodded again, smiling now, appreciating the cleverness of it.

  “Will you do this?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “Very good. Now bow your head.” She did, and he touched her forehead. “God go with you,” he said. Then he hurried away.

  Dayton Throme awoke with an odd feeling in his stomach. He sat up, felt dizzy, and laid his head back down on the woven mat that was his bed. He groaned within as it dawned on him that he was ill. Bad timing, he thought. They were already on edge, these people, watching him like a hawk. He’d caught a cold once, and they set a vigil to assure themselves of early notice, should a sneeze become the precursor to cataclysm.

  He sat up again, this time more slowly. If he couldn’t walk, what would they think? He put his head between his knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It didn’t, and his stomach grew more unsettled. He lay back down. Now he began to wonder if he had a fever, too.

  Very bad timing.

  Delaney saw the beast rise. It wasn’t his watch, and he should have been in the forecastle sleeping, but he couldn’t, and so he wasn’t. He was thinking too much. He hated it when so many thoughts came and went so quickly. He was never any good at controlling them, like some people seemed to be, and when he couldn’t sleep it was worse.

  He had thoughts of Marcus Pile, whom he missed terribly. He had thoughts of Scat Wilkins and John Hand and Talon, who was now his fourth captain on this ship, and he hoped her end would come soon, too, like the others. He thought of Andrew Haas, who had captained this ship for a while and lived, because he was a good man.

  And he thought of Firefish. The feeding waters. He remembered that amazing sight, so wondrous he could hardly now believe he had really seen it, except there were so many
other witnesses…that one Firefish rising at the bow, and Packer speaking to it, and it attacking the Drammune. That was a joyous thing. And he thought of John Hand killed by the same beast because he was unable to command it. That was not so joyous.

  And he thought of Achawuk warriors, swimming out to attack him in the black darkness of the night. They would kill him and die at his hand, just to claim the Trophy Chase. And they would zoom in and out of his mind.

  How could any man sleep with such things behind, and such things ahead, and all of them winging like a swarm of bats in and out of a cave? So he walked up to the forecastle deck under the moon, where light clouds flew past like they were in some great hurry to get somewhere. He saw Father Mooring standing at the bowsprit, deep in thought. And Delaney looked out over the sea to port, to the west, and wondered about Nearing Vast.

  And now he thought of Panna Throme, and how she had said he was delightful. And he let that thought linger a while. But it flitted out sooner than he wanted, and he thought how an intricate woman like her could become queen, even though she was born in a fishing village, and then he thought how Packer had become king. And he was content to be a small part of it, in a world where such great and wonderful things could happen. And he knew God had set him down right in the big middle of it all, because who else could have made him be friends with a stowaway who became a king? No man. And he was thankful.

  And that’s when he saw it. Off the port rail at two-hundred-and-forty degrees, Delaney saw the outline of a head, the head of the beast. It was motionless, watching, and then it sank down into the water. Delaney sprinted to the quarterdeck, found Andrew Haas there.

  “Sir, it’s the beast. It’s out there. It’s still watchin’.”

  “Whoa, sailor. What’s watching? A Firefish?”

  “No, not any Firefish, the same one. The one Packer commanded!”

  “That one’s dead, Delaney. Admiral Hand killed it with a lure.”

  Delaney felt like he’d just been shaken awake. “Aye.” He looked out over the sea again. “But I was sure…”

  “How could you tell? How far out was it?”

  “Five hundred yards, maybe.”

  From behind him a cold voice dripping with scorn said, “Five hundred yards! In the dark?” Delaney spun around. It was Talon, there beside Haas. Where had she come from? Out of the shadows, out of darkness. “And you recognize it as different from all other Firefish?” she asked.

  “I jus’…I jus’ felt it was the same one.” He looked away from Talon, spoke to Haas. “Why else would it look?”

  “Why?” Talon asked, remembering her encounter in the shallop, when she had fed Monkey to the thing to save herself. It had risen up and peered over the edge of the boat. She remembered its eyes, its intelligence. “They stalk before they strike.”

  “Don’t I know that?” Delaney exploded, wheeling on her. “Who don’t know that!”

  “You will speak with respect to your captain, sailor,” she said, her eyes narrow and her voice a cold blade. Andrew Haas could see how she enjoyed skewering him.

  Delaney put a hand to his sword, the cords of his neck bulging with anger. Talon’s eyes flashed.

  “Delaney!” Haas thundered at him. “Get back to your bunk; this isn’t your watch!”

  But Delaney had locked eyes with Talon, and did not back down. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword.

  “I gave you orders, sailor!” Haas bellowed, trying to save his life.

  Delaney pulled his eyes away and acknowledged Haas again. “Aye, aye. Sir.” He glanced at Talon. She looked amused. He looked away. “Anyways,” Delaney said to Haas, hooking a thumb toward the port rail, “we got company.”

  “Thank you, Delaney,” Haas said, still keeping an eye on Talon. “We’ll signal the other ships to stay in tight formation.”

  “And I will awaken the king,” Talon announced. “So that he may command this beast.” She strode off before Andrew Haas had a response.

  Delaney seethed. “ ‘I will awaken the king,’ my right cheek. Sir, permission to follow, to see she don’t stab him in his sleep?”

  “Permission denied. And don’t expect me to step in and protect you again. Next time I’ll just let her kill you.”

  Delaney was stung. “Who says she kills me? I got a sword, too, ain’t I?”

  “You got nothing, Delaney. Not against her.” Delaney stared hard at him. But Andrew Haas had compassion underneath the words, and would not back down. “We need you. The king needs you. Don’t get killed over being too stubborn to know your place. Which, right now, is in the forecastle.”

  Reluctantly, Delaney obeyed.

  Packer was not asleep when she walked in, but rather lying in his hammock reading Scripture, a lamp burning on the wall over his shoulder. He was reading in Matthew’s Gospel, contemplating once again those most difficult of words: “Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil…” He knew the time was coming when every bit of what he knew, and who he was, would be tested. He knew that all the trials he had seen up until now were but the preparation for this voyage. He knew it in his soul.

  Talon did not knock.

  “Well hello, Captain,” Packer said. “Please come in.”

  She was already in, but she left the door open behind her. “A Firefish has been sighted. You will come with me, and command it.”

  Packer lowered the book. “Talon, what is it you want from me?”

  “To command the Firefish.” She stared at him, but he was waiting for more. “And to teach me these secrets.”

  “I have told you. It is all the Lord’s doing, not mine.”

  “Then come show me,” she answered without a pause.

  He closed the leather-bound book. He put a hand behind his head, in no hurry. “You can take this ship prize. You can take me and all my men prisoner—”

  “I have already done so.”

  “But you can’t capture God. You can’t control Him. You’d have more success putting manacles on the wind.”

  “And yet the sails of this vessel even now harness the wind. Do not suppose I am stupid. I understand you better than you understand me.”

  He blinked. That might well be true. “Then you know I didn’t seek power. I became king before I even knew it.”

  She looked at him oddly.

  “Mather Sennett saved my life by claiming the Ixthano, just as I was to be hanged by Fen Abbaka Mux.”

  “Then you are a citizen of Drammun.”

  He stared at her, unsure if she was following the logic here. “The point is, I was given a gift, Talon. Someone died in my place. And if you understand me, then you know the same was done for you.”

  Talon’s flesh crawled. “Who told you this?”

  He held the book up again.

  “You will not find my story in there,” she sneered. She saw his sword, lying in its scabbard in his open locker, returned there by Delaney. She walked over and picked it up. “It was the Hezzan Shul Dramm who died for me. He stepped in front of arrows meant for me.” She unsheathed the blade, examined it. She ran her fingers down its length. “Pyre Dunn,” she noted, approvingly.

  Packer nodded. She was following him, surely. She did not seem so anxious to go find the Firefish, and that made him hopeful. She found this conversation important. “But your story actually is in here,” Packer said, holding the book up. “It’s the story of a king’s dominion. He died to give all He has to us. He claimed the Ixthano, and it was granted. All we need to do is accept it.”

  “No. If the Worthy dies for the Unworthy, that is not an Ixthano.”

  “In the Kingdom of Heaven, it’s the only Ixthano.”

  She was silent.

  Packer looked into those steely eyes. He sat up, hopped out of the hammock, stood face-to-face with her. He ignored the sword in her hand. “Talon, I don’t know what God might grant you. But if you’ll trust Him, He won’t disappoint you.”

/>   “Because He cares for me.”

  “Yes.”

  “As He cares for His own Son.”

  “Yes!”

  She stepped toward him and he backed up, suddenly feeling vulnerable. But she did not raise the weapon. “Then tell me the meaning of these words: ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ ”

  Packer took a deep breath, and let it out, feeling punctured.

  “He does forsake those who serve Him,” Talon said. “Yes, even His own child.”

  “Well, there’s a little bit more going on there—”

  She sneered. “I’m sure there is. And yet, this is your Scripture. So I am to trust with my child the God who abandoned His own?”

  “Yes.” But he swallowed hard, and she saw it.

  She kept pressing. “As Senslar Zendoda trusted this God, and abandoned his own child?”

  Packer was confused. “Senslar Zendoda had no children.”

  She looked at him now, eyes glittering and hard as diamonds. “You are wrong.”

  Packer stared back at her, wondering how she could possibly know anything about a man she had met only once, when she had killed him. A man who had left Drammun thirty years before.

  Talon waited, as though expecting Packer would figure it out.

  Thirty years…His eyes went wide. Talon unsheathed the sword in a flash, had the point of it at Packer’s throat. As she saw the realization dawn in him, he saw the satisfaction grow in her. Without lowering the sword, and without taking her eyes from Packer’s, she tossed it, a flick of the wrist, and it stuck horizontally into the wall, just above his locker. “Senslar Zendoda offered himself up to your God. I was forsaken as a result.”

  Packer could only stare and shake his head. “No,” he started. But he understood now how she saw it. “No. People do bad things. But not Him. He will never leave you or forsake you. He has promised that.”

  Her look turned sad, and her eyes grew distant. “If He forsakes no one,” she asked, “then why is there a hell in your religion, as well as a heaven?”